Better Angels
by J9
Summary: (Warrick-Sara) Random Acts of Violence post ep - Warrick gets some advice from his better angels


**Better Angels**

* * *

**Fandom:** CSI

**Pairing:** Warrick/Sara

**Rating:** PG

**Word Count:** 8,717

**Spoilers:** _Random Acts of Violence _post ep

**Notes:** For dynamicgravity… I'm not sure I can do anything to cheer you up, but hopefully this is something!

* * *

He didn't know how long he stood there, staring out at the baseball field, the iron of the fence cold underneath his palms. Every so often, a car would pass nearby, or he might hear the faint sound of kids laughing as they walked by, but he didn't look around, his gaze fixed on the field, his mind fifteen or so years away, remembering when he used to play on that field. He'd spent a lot of time there all in all, practising with the team, or taking practice swings on his own. It had been Matt who'd got him into playing ball in the first place; he'd caught him taking swings with a stick at the neighbourhood garbage cans, which were full, naturally, because otherwise where was the fun? He'd clamped his hand down firmly on Warrick's shoulder, and the twelve year old had been sure that he was really for the high jump now, because the guy looked pissed, and the street was littered with garbage. Matt had just smiled at him though; told him that he had a pretty good arm, asked him if he'd ever tried out for the local team. Warrick had told him no - though his language had been pretty choice, and if Grams had've heard him, she'd have washed his mouth out with soap and not even thought twice about doing it - and Matt had just smiled again, telling him about the rec centre, that he should think about checking it out. Besides, he was going that way now, and why didn't Warrick come with him?

Warrick had hesitated, mindful of the warnings that his Grams had always given him about going with strangers, but he'd seen this guy around the place, had seen him working with kids, talking to the parents when Grams dragged him to church on Sunday mornings, so he knew that he was on the up and up. Besides, he'd figured that if he'd gone, it'd keep the guy happy, and he wouldn't tell Grams about the garbage cans.

So he'd gone.

To his surprise, Matt had organised a game right then and there, let him play in it with all the other, more experienced kids.

To his greater surprise, he'd enjoyed himself.

To his even greater surprise, he'd kept coming back.

That meeting, he now knew, was one of the turning points in his life. Oh, not that he'd turned into some kind of angel, oh no. A nerd he may have been in high school, short with thick glasses and bad clothes, a magnet for bullies, but the fact of the matter was that he'd always given as good as he'd got, and he'd given Grams more than her fair share of sleepless nights. Matt had never given up on him though; just like recently, he'd always told him that he was a good kid, but that he lacked discipline.

Warrick had been hearing that his whole life, and every time he thought he was making progress, it seemed like he took two steps back. He thought now of the litany of people that he'd let down in one way or another - Grams, with all the worry he'd caused her. Grissom, with the gambling, and Holly, and now this.

And Matt. He'd let Matt down most of all. The man had helped him turn his life around, had been his friend, his mentor. Warrick had little doubt that had Matt not entered his life when he did, that he'd either be dead or in jail by now. He wasn't, but that's where he'd helped put Matt.

There was irony in there somewhere, but he didn't want to dwell on that too much.

He only moved when the rumbling of his stomach was louder than the guilt roaring in his ears, and he realised that he was hungry, which was quickly followed by the realisation that he was late, and that he'd better get moving. He walked through the streets quickly, the route familiar to him, a path he'd taken hundreds of times over the years, and when he turned into the quiet street, walked past the familiar car on the sidewalk, up the path to the front door that needed a coat of paint, he felt a little better. He felt even better when he put his key in the lock, when the smell of cooking food hit him, along with the faint sound of two female voices chatting in the kitchen. He took his time hanging up his jacket, not able to hear their words clearly, but just taking in their general tone, relaxed banter, punctuated by the occasional burst of laughter.

The two most important women in his life, getting on like a house on fire. He'd never realised until this moment how much that meant to him.

"Warrick?" one of the voices called out, and he stifled a sigh, forcing his feet to move through the comfortable living room towards the kitchen.

"Yeah, it's me, Grams," he called, and she met him halfway, reaching up to take him in her arms.

"How's my baby?" she greeted him, and while most of the time he rolled his eyes at the endearment, he didn't do that now. The hug, and the words, did more to calm him than anything else in the world could have, and always had, when he'd let her. Maybe she sensed that it was what he needed too, because it seemed to him that she held him for just a little longer, and just a little tighter, than she normally would have.

"I'm ok, Grams," he sighed when he finally released her, or she him, he wasn't quite sure. "Just a long couple of days is all."

Her lips pursed, and her forehead knit in a frown as she looked him up and down. "It shows," was her tart assessment, and despite himself, he gave a rueful chuckle, which was nothing compared to the hastily stifled guffaw that came from the kitchen. Grams turned on her heel, taking him by the arm into the kitchen, and the woman who was sitting at the table looked up at him with a smile.

"Hey," he said, going to her, leaning down to kiss her cheek. "You got my message?"

She nodded, and he took the opportunity to peer carefully at her face, noting her pallor and the dark circles under her eyes, her dark hair making the contrast even more striking. Still though, she looked much better than she'd looked a couple of days ago. "You ok?"

Sara wrinkled her nose slightly. "Not so bad," she told him, before adding with a grin, "Though I'm still not sure that I could manage some of Grams's pot roast." She shot the older woman an apologetic grin, and Grams just waved her hand briskly.

"Like you were ever gonna eat it anyway," she said, lifting the lid of a saucepan and stirring the contents. "I made some nice vegetable soup…there's plenty here, so mind you don't forget to take the extra home with you."

"I won't, Grams," Sara promised, but she might as well not have spoken, not having as much experience with Grams in full flow as Warrick had.

"You make sure you drink it all up; nice and hot. With bread if you can manage it. The one thing you don't need to do is to lose weight Miss Sara; you're far too thin as it is."

"Yes, Grams," Sara said dutifully, flashing Warrick a smile as his hand dropped down to her shoulder, kneading the muscles there gently. A slight frown appeared between her eyes as she looked up at him, and her hand reached up to cover his. "How are you?" she asked quietly. "We expected you a while ago."

"And don't think, Warrick Brown," interjected Grams, a teasing note in her voice, "That I'm not going to have words with you about not picking Sara up. If your grandfather had done that to me when we were courting…well…let's just say that you might not be standing there today."

Warrick gave her a weak smile. "Sorry," he murmured, his gaze going between the two women, and Sara's hand moved to his wrist, rubbing it gently. "Just a long case." With a sigh, without ever losing contact with Sara's hand, he dropped into the chair beside her.

"We heard." Sara's voice was as gentle as he'd ever heard it, and he could see the worry in her eyes clear as day. He'd called her a couple of times when he was working that day, sometimes getting her, sometimes getting her voicemail if she was sleeping off her flu, and so he knew that she was fairly up to date with what had happened, with what they'd found. He'd kept her up to date on the few occasions that taken time out during the course of the case; while he hadn't seen her, he'd called her to check in, and sick and sleepy as she'd been, she'd insisted on keeping her eyes open, allowing him to talk about what was going on, to rant about whatever was on his mind. Anything that she didn't know, he was sure that Grams had filled her in on, the neighbourhood gossip routes well established. "Are you ok?"

Warrick closed his eyes, shaking his head. "A nine year old girl is dead. Kid who did it is fifteen years old and his life is over." A harsh assessment he knew, but true, and what he also knew was that it could just as easily have been him. "The rec centre is closed, we don't know what's gonna happen to Trav, because Matt's in jail, and Matt's in jail because I led him to Jaycobs…" His voice trailed off in disgust, and he smacked the table with his free hand. "Dammit."

Nine times out of ten, Grams would have admonished him for his language, but this time was the tenth time. "Terrible thing," was all she said, her words accompanied by Sara squeezing his hand. "For that family and the community."

"They locked the doors already," Warrick told her. "I swung by on my way here."

"We figured," Sara told him. "I wanted to go look for you, but Grams wouldn't let me."

A ghost of a smile flitted across Warrick's face. Sara might be a CSI, might be able to go up against any criminal, wielding science as her only weapon, with the occasional gun, but put her up against this diminutive seventy-nine-year-old force of nature and she didn't stand a chance. He found it strangely comforting.

"In this neighbourhood, a pretty little thing like you out there on your own?" Grams asked. "Anything could happen to you. And you still sick too…"

Unseen by Grams, Sara rolled her eyes, but Warrick just nodded. "Grams is right, Sara. You're better off here."

Their hands were still joined on the table, and with her free hand, Sara reached over, her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. "I was worried about you." Her voice was a whisper as she leaned against him, her head in the crook of his neck, and he closed his eyes, burying her face in her hair, losing himself for a moment in the scent and the feel of her.

He didn't allow himself that luxury for too long, some part of his mind still aware of Grams in the background, pottering around the kitchen. Straightening, he brushed his lips against Sara's forehead. "I'm gonna go wash up for dinner," he said, going before Grams could order him, and he could feel two pairs of eyes on him as he walked out of the room without looking back.

* * *

Sara parked the car and hurried up the path towards the front door, frowning slightly when she noted that the driveway was still empty. That meant that she was the first person here, and, checking her watch, she knew that she was running late. That struck her as more than a little odd, because after all, this was dinner with Warrick's grandmother, and that was something that he was never late for. Adding to her worry was the fact that she hadn't seen him since he'd been called to the Phelps house with Grissom; he'd literally worked non-stop on the case, and he hadn't come to her place last night, going back to his own. He'd called her though, telling her where he was, that he hadn't wanted to disturb her, and she'd told him that she wouldn't have minded, and he'd called her a couple of times that day, checking that they were still on for dinner at Grams's house, asking her if they could meet there. His last words had been a reassurance that he'd see her soon, and she really did think that he would have been here already. Pondering what might be keeping him, knowing how the case that he'd been on that day had been affecting him, she reached out and rang the doorbell, wondering if she should call him on his cell.

Before she could do anything about that train of thought, the front door opened, and she smiled at the slight woman standing there, the woman who straight away reached out to pull her into a hug. "Sara!" she said, wrapping her arms around her. "It's good to see you."

"Hey Grams," Sara replied with a smile, returning the hug warmly. "Sorry I'm late."

"You and that boy of mine both," Grams told her, letting her go and walking her into the hallway, her arm still around Sara's waist.

"I thought he'd be here by now," Sara observed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"The Phelps case," Grams sighed, shaking her head. "A terrible, terrible thing."

"Yeah, Warrick told me about Matt…said he'd done a lot for him." Matt's name, and stories of the rec centre had come up every now and again when they'd talked about their pasts, but even with that, owing to the events of the last few days, Sara was beginning to think that she'd never known just how deep the ties between the two men went.

Grams's next words would soon leave her in no doubt. "You have no idea, Sara…none." They entered the kitchen and Grams went to the cooker, checking something bubbling away in one of the saucepans there, and Sara went to the table, pulling out a chair and making herself comfortable. "Warrick was a wild kid…not bad now, he never had a malicious streak. But wild. Hard to control. There were times I didn't know what I'd do with him…then he met up with Matt, got into playing baseball at the rec centre." She half-turned to Sara, a nostalgic smile lighting up her face. "Not that he changed overnight. But I could see it happen, little by little. I thank God every day for Matt Phelps and that place. And it's not just Warrick that he's helped either…lots of kids got their lives turned around there." She clucked her tongue disapprovingly, turning back to the cooker. "A terrible thing."

Sara's stomach twisted, the result of a knot of worry unfurling there. She'd talked to Warrick off and on most of the day, had heard the strain in his voice, and she'd thought she knew how badly this case was affecting him. Now she was beginning to wonder if she'd had a clue. "He might be at the centre," she suggested, more thinking out loud than anything. "Maybe I should go-"

She was half-standing, but Grams's firm voice stopped her. "You're not going anywhere Miss Sara," she ordered, and Sara found herself sitting straight back down without even thinking about it. "Not in this neighbourhood, and not looking like death warmed up either." For all that her voice was so firm, it changed in an instant, as she followed up with, "How are you feeling today dear?" Then she was all charm and sweetness, the motherly Grams that Sara had come to know and love, so she didn't point out that it was broad daylight and that she could take care of herself. She knew that it wouldn't do any good - Warrick came by his stubborn streak honestly.

"Better," was the first word that came to mind. "I had some toast earlier on…and it stayed down, which is something." A particularly nasty bout of stomach flu had waylaid her, and she cursed her timing - she never got sick, and for it to happen now, at a time when Warrick needed her, was unfortunate to say the least.

Satisfied that the food was in no imminent danger, Grams crossed the floor, pulling out another chair. "The flu, Warrick said?" There was something in the way that she asked the question that had Sara blinking curiously, but she nodded once, waiting for Grams to continue. "You're sure that's all?"

"Yeah…" She dragged the word out, still not sure where Grams was going with this, and the older woman shrugged.

"I was just wondering…because sometimes it's easy to mistake these things for something they're not…and you know how men are with things like these…" It finally dawned on Sara what Grams was thinking, and despite her worry over Warrick, she shook her head, laughing slightly.

"Sorry, Grams," she told her. "But no."

A huff of pure exasperation passed Grams's lips. "Well I'm not getting any younger you know," she pointed out. "I wait and I wait for Warrick to bring home a nice girl, and then he does, and they make me wait for a wedding, and for children…" Despite her words, her voice was teasing, and Sara found herself laughing even more. She didn't know what Warrick had told Grams about her, if anything, before they'd met for the first time, but upon walking into this into this house, she'd instantly felt at home, had been made to feel welcome. She'd never experienced that kind of instant family anywhere in her life before, and she'd been surprised to figure out just how much it meant to her. Grams had told her later that she was the first girl that Warrick had brought home in a long time, and had immediately thereafter began dropping hints about how serious they were, or should be. Sara found the whole thing fairly amusing, especially when Grams started in on it when Warrick was around - for someone she'd always characterised as so cool and collected, he got incredibly flustered.

Sara was about to reply, but Grams tilted her head to one side, turning so that she was looking towards the front door. "Is that the door?" she asked, and Sara listened too, but she couldn't hear anything. "Warrick?" Grams called out, louder then, and sure enough, a familiar voice responded.

"Yeah, it's me Grams." At those words, Grams was up out of her seat, moving to meet him halfway, and Sara stayed where she was, looking around the room, listening to the low murmur of their voices as they came towards her. She turned to greet them, smiling up at the two of them, just about managing to keep smiling, even when she saw how tired Warrick looked, the strain of the case written all over his face. Still though, he seemed to relax when he saw her. "Hey," he said, coming over and kissing her cheek. "You got my message?"

She nodded, because she'd been in the shower when he'd called, asking her to meet him here, telling her that he had some stuff to take care of before he could go to Grams's. She hadn't called him back, because she'd known that whatever was bothering him, he wouldn't talk about it until they were face to face, and even then, not without some hard work. She also didn't miss how he was staring at her, as if he'd gone months without seeing her. "You ok?" he asked, and she nodded again, wrinkling her nose.

"Not so bad," was her instinctive reply, because she was certainly better than she'd been a couple of days ago, and besides, she was here with him and Grams, so she could be an awful lot worse. She was aware of the older woman standing at the cooker, getting ready to dish up the dinner, and while she'd normally welcome the home cooked meal, tonight the notion of having one of Grams's meals put in front of her made her stomach roil. "Though I'm still not sure that I could manage some of Grams's pot roast." Grams waved her hand in dismissal, not even looking over her shoulder to see Sara's look of apology.

" Like you were ever gonna eat it anyway," was all she said, and Sara ducked her head, remembering Warrick teasing her over all the vegetarian cookbooks that had suddenly made their way into Grams's kitchen once he'd started bringing her by on a regular basis. " I made some nice vegetable soup…" Sara's mouth watered at the words, because she'd had some of Grams's homemade soup before, and it was almost worth getting sick for. Almost. "There's plenty here, so mind you don't forget to take the extra home with you," Grams concluded.

"I won't, Grams," Sara promised, but she'd reckoned without Grams in full flow.

"You make sure you drink it all up; nice and hot. With bread if you can manage it. The one thing you don't need to do is to lose weight Miss Sara; you're far too thin as it is."

"Yes, Grams," she said, turning her face up to Warrick, giving him a long-suffering smile, which turned into a genuine relaxed smile as his hand began kneading her shoulder gently. He looked vaguely worried though, not the Warrick she knew at all, and her hand reached up, covering his. "How are you?" she asked quietly. "We expected you a while ago."

From the cooker, Grams spoke up. "And don't think Warrick Brown, that I'm not going to have words with you about not picking Sara up. If your grandfather had done that to me when we were courting…well…let's just say that you might not be standing there today."

Sara stifled a grin, ducking her head so that she was looking at her hand over Warrick's. "Sorry," Warrick mumbled, the joke having evidently gone past him, and she frowned, her hand travelling to his wrist, rubbing it. "Just a long case." Without dropping her hand, he pulled out the chair beside her, dropping into it with a sigh.

"We heard," Sara said. "Are you ok?" It was a redundant question she knew, but the best one to get him to open up, she hoped.

Eyes closed, he shook his head, and when he spoke, his voice started off flat, but rose in disgust the more he spoke. "A nine year old girl is dead. Kid who did it is fifteen years old and his life is over. The rec centre is closed, we don't know what's gonna happen to Trav, because Matt's in jail, and Matt's in jail because I led him to Jaycobs…"His voice faded, his lips pursed in disgust, and his hand slammed down on the table. "Dammit."

From her stance across the room, Grams repeated the words that she'd told Sara earlier on. "Terrible thing," she murmured, as Warrick ran a hand through his hair, and Sara squeezed their still joined hands. "For that family, and the community."

"They locked the doors already," Warrick said, glancing over at her. "I swung by on my way here," he continued, unwittingly confirming Sara's earlier guess.

"We figured," she told him now. "I wanted to go look for you, but Grams wouldn't let me."

She phrased it that way on purpose, and she was gratified to see the faintest of smiles dance across Warrick's lips, as he no doubt tried to imagine just how Grams would have reacted to that one. He didn't have to imagine for long though, because Grams decided to supply the soundtrack. "In this neighbourhood, a pretty little thing like you out there on your own?" she asked. "Anything could happen to you. And you still sick too…"

Sara rolled her eyes, because she was sure that she could take care of herself, especially in the broad daylight, and she glanced over at Warrick, sure that she'd see agreement in his eyes. She was shocked at the sober look on his face as he nodded. "Grams is right, Sara. You're better off here."

Barely repressing a sigh, Sara reached out with her free hand, placing it around his neck. "I was worried about you," she breathed, and she leaned against him, her head nestled against his neck, letting him know that she was there for him, if he wanted her. He held himself steady for a moment before he dropped his head too, and she felt his head turn towards her, felt his breath against her hair.

He didn't stay like that for long though, standing and brushing a kiss against her forehead. "I'm gonna go wash up for dinner," he announced, and he was gone before she could stop him. She watched him go, her eyes following his retreating back, and when she turned back to Grams, she found that the older woman was staring in the same direction. Her head slowly turned to Sara then, and their eyes met in mutual worry.

"He doesn't look so good," Sara murmured, and Grams nodded slowly.

"Matt Phelps meant everything to that boy," she told Sara. "And you of all people know the lengths Warrick would go to to protect a friend."

Sara took in a deep breath, let it out slowly. "I'm gonna go talk to him…" she said, standing up, moving over to the door, shooting Grams a look that asked her for permission.

"That's a good idea," she heard Grams say after her, but she didn't stop to reply, or even look back, heading straight for the stairs. The first place she checked was his old bedroom, just in case, but it was empty. Retracing her steps, she heard water running in the bathroom, so she made her way back to the landing. Once there, she sat down on the second step from the top, resting her crossed arms on her knees, chin on her arms, waiting for him to come out.

It wasn't long before she heard the door click open, and she lifted her head, turning slightly so that she could see him as he came towards her. He didn't see her at first, his head down, but when he was a couple of steps away from her, the edges of his lips curled up in something like a smile, and he stopped, hands going to his hips. "I thought you were helping Grams with dinner?"

She shrugged. "She's not the one who needs me," she told him simply, and she could see him take that in, nod slowly before sighing, sitting down on the stairs beside her. Like her, he set his feet down on the next step, arms resting on his knees, their sides touching.

"I blew it," he finally said, shaking his head, looking straight ahead rather than at her. "Matt's in jail right now, and it's all my fault."

"It's not," she told him quietly. "He made his own decision."

He wasn't buying that though. "I lead him to Jaycobs. Might as well have written down the damn address for him."

"How were you supposed to know that he'd follow you?" she objected, but he was ready for that.

"I should never have gone near him in the first place. You know that."

She narrowed her eyes then, staring at him. "Then why did you?" There was no accusation in her tone, no curiosity either; she kept it as flat as she could.

"I dunno," he sighed.

"Yes you do. Why?"

Another, larger, sigh followed. "I wanted to see him. Wanted to let him know that we were going to get him…I was so sure Sara, so sure that he was our guy. He was laughing at us, laughing at Matt…I wanted to tell him that he wasn't going to get away with it." His lips twisted, disgust etched in every feature, and he closed his eyes. "You should've heard him…I was this close to punching him…"

His voice trailed off as he ran a hand over his face. "But you didn't," she pointed out quietly. "You didn't."

"No," he agreed, turning his head so that he looked at her, and for the first time since he'd walked into the house, his eyes were clear. "I called you."

That caught her flat-footed, and she blinked. "You what?"

One shoulder rose and fell in a shrug. "I drove around the block…pulled over the car… and called you," he explained. "Told you where we were on the case, asked for your opinion. You told me not to sweat it, that things would work out." A bitter smile flitted across his face. "Turns out you were right."

She heard his words, but her mind was still stuck on the primary revelation, and she had to work very hard to get her voice to work past the lump in her throat. "I didn't know that," she murmured.

He grinned somewhat sheepishly, one knee nudging hers. "I came pretty close to losing it with him," he told her. "Thought I could use some advice from my better angels."

A pleased flush spread across her cheeks, and she leaned into him, dropping her head onto his shoulder. "It's gonna be ok, Warrick," she breathed, and he didn't say anything for a moment, just wrapped an arm around her shoulders, resting his cheek against the top of her head.

"I messed up, Sara. And it's not over yet…"

"You didn't do it on purpose, Warrick," she reminded him, interrupting him, her voice strong. "OK, so you shouldn't have gone to see Jaycobs. And you might have threatened him, got into his face, but it's nothing that the rest of us haven't done at one time or another. You didn't assault him Warrick, and you're not responsible for Matt's decision." She sighed, bringing up one hand so that it rested over his heart. "You're a good man Warrick...with a good heart. You make mistakes sometimes…well so what? We all do, and the only thing we can do is take responsibility for it and move on." Her tone was kinder than her words indicated, her eyes pleading with him not to get angry with himself, not to beat himself up over this.

His chest rose and fell as he took a deep breath in, and his voice, when he spoke, was barely audible. "I guess I'm just worried how many chances I get before I blow it for good."

She shook her head, grinning slightly. "Grissom's not going to let you go, you know that. You're too good at what you do-"

There was a sad smile on his face. "I'm not talking about Grissom," he told her quietly, interrupting her, and her voice trailed off as his words sank in. When they did, she found herself chuckling, wrapping her arms around his neck, her head resting on his shoulder.

"Oh, Warrick…" His arms closed around her back, hands splayed there, warm through the material of her shirt. She stayed like that for a moment before she drew back slightly, careful not to dislodge herself from the circle of his arms. "I've got news for you babe…" she told him. "Me and Grams? It's going to take more than that to get rid of us. See, we love you. And that doesn't come with conditions, or time limits. I'm afraid you're stuck with us."

He closed his eyes for a moment during her speech, and when he opened them again, she could see the relief shining there. "I think I can live with that," he whispered, one hand moving, the back of it brushing a path along her cheek.

"Good," she breathed, before closing the distance between them, their lips meeting in a kiss.

Neither of them knew how long they were there, only pulling apart when a distinctive disembodied voice floated up the stairs. "When you two are done canoodling up there, your dinner is ready!"

They looked at one another for a second before both burst out laughing. "I'm sorry," Warrick said, though why Sara didn't know. It wasn't as if she wasn't used to Grams by now.

"Oh, don't worry about it," she told him, not moving from her spot any more than he was moving from his. "You should have heard her earlier."

Warrick frowned. "Yeah? What did she say?"

Sara grinned. "Oh, she just asked me if I was sure that I really had the flu. That I wasn't mistaking the symptoms for something else…" She let her voice trail off, waiting for the penny to drop. When it did, his eyes widened in shock, and his head tilted back to the ceiling.

"Oh man…" he groaned, and Sara laughed.

"She was very subtle about it, I must say," she added, enjoying his discomfort hugely. "But I wouldn't rule out getting asked about great-grandchildren again sooner rather than later." He'd looked shocked at first, appalled even, but as she spoke, his expression changed, became more thoughtful. Narrowing her eyes, she tilted her head slightly. "What?"

He shrugged. "Just wondering…would that be such a bad thing?" He held her gaze, green eyes serious. "I'm not talking now…or even soon…I'm just…" He sighed. "I'm not explaining this well."

She smiled, reaching one hand up to his cheek, pressing her lips against his briefly. "No," she told him quietly. "It wouldn't be such a bad thing." She kissed him again then, before standing, holding out her hand to him. "Come on…Grams is waiting."

* * *

Warrick hadn't been all that hungry when he'd entered the house; not even for Grams's pot roast, long since his favourite meal. He'd begun to feel a little better though, right around the time that he'd come out onto the landing and seen Sara sitting on the stairs, obviously waiting for him. She'd talked to him, got him to open up to her, and he'd been surprised, not for the first time in their relationship, by how easy it was to talk to her. How he wanted to open up to her.

"Thought I could use some advice from my better angels," he told her, enjoying the blush that spread across her cheeks as she took in the words. That wasn't a look that one saw often on Sara Sidle, any more than those words were something that he would often admit to. He knew how he felt about her; he supposed that he just took it for granted that she knew too. Every so often though, she would do something, or say something, that would remind him that she didn't.

Just like every so often, he would look at her and wonder when she was going to come to her senses. Realise that a man like him wasn't a good bet for a long-term relationship, that she could do better. He'd wonder when he was going to push her over the edge, use up the last of his chances with her and lose her for good. "I guess I'm just worried how many chances I get before I blow it for good," he admitted, and she shook her head at him, a tiny smile on her face.

"Grissom's not going to let you go, you know that," she told him, but that's not what was on his mind. She didn't know that though. "You're too good at what you do-"

He interrupted her, for once, not caring about what she might think. "I'm not talking about Grissom."

His words silenced her, her face impassive as her words sank in, and whatever he expected, it wasn't to hear her laugh softly, for her to wrap her arms around his neck and lay her head on his shoulder. His arms went around her automatically, his hands on her back, holding her tightly, as she whispered, "Oh, Warrick…" She pulled back slightly then, so that she could look at him, but he didn't let her go, couldn't let her go. "I've got news for you babe…" she said him, and the term of endearment, so casually used, did more for his mood than he could have expected. "Me and Grams? It's going to take more than that to get rid of us. See, we love you. And that doesn't come with conditions, or time limits. I'm afraid you're stuck with us."

The words were music to his ears, and he'd told her that that was fine with him, and they'd ended up necking like teenagers on the stairs, only to be interrupted by Grams, with a warning to stop canoodling. He'd been quite taken aback by that, embarrassed really, though he was certainly used to Grams. Seemed by her reaction that Sara was just as used to it, because she didn't look upset, or taken aback, or even embarrassed. Instead she looked amused if anything, telling him that he should have heard what Grams had said earlier.

"She just asked me if I was sure that I really had the flu. That I wasn't mistaking the symptoms for something else…"

It had taken a moment for him to realise what she was hinting at, and he hadn't known how to react, but shock was the primary one, and he groaned. "Oh man…"

Sara laughed. "She was very subtle about it, I must say," she added, enjoying his discomfort hugely. "But I wouldn't rule out getting asked about great-grandchildren again sooner rather than later."

She'd been joking, he knew that, teasing him about Grams's words. But what she'd said had brought an image into his mind, of Grams holding a small bundle in her arms. He could almost see the baby's face, pale brown skin, shock of dark curly hair, and round unblinking brown eyes that were unmistakably Sara's. The picture stopped him saying anything, surprised as he was by how much he wanted that.

"What?" Sara was looking at him suspiciously and he shrugged.

"Just wondering…" he asked. "Would that be such a bad thing?" Staring into her eyes, he could still see the baby's eyes, Grams's smiling face. "I'm not talking now…or even soon…I'm just… I'm not explaining this well."

He was afraid that he'd upset her, afraid that she was going to laugh, or tell him off, or just tell him that that wasn't in the cards for them. Instead she smiled, touching his cheek and leaning over to kiss him quickly. "No," she said, and the gentle tone of her voice made him aware that it wasn't a negative response. "It wouldn't be such a bad thing." Another kiss, as hope flared in his heart, and then she was standing, holding out her hand to him. "Come on…Grams is waiting."

True to her word, Grams had two plates heaped with food waiting for them, and a bowl of soup for Sara. Dinner passed easier than he might have thought; Grams keeping up a constant stream of chatter about people from the neighbourhood, making jokes and fussing over him and Sara, ensuring that they had enough of everything, as if going hungry at Grams's was ever an option. They lingered over their meal, Warrick insisting that he do the washing-up, although a tiny part of his brain said that leaving Grams and Sara alone together was a recipe for disaster. Sara offered to help with the drying, but both he and Grams refused to let her, and the two women sat at the table, throwing yet more comments around, most of them at his expense.

When he was done, they retired to the living room, Grams settling herself in her usual armchair, Warrick and Sara heading for the couch, and Warrick smiled to see Sara making herself at home, kicking off her shoes and curling her legs up underneath her. She nestled herself against his side, and he took the hint, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, trying to ignore Grams and the sidelong looks and knowing smiles she bestowed on them every so often.

They were talking quietly when he suddenly became aware that Sara hadn't said anything for a while, and looking down at her, he was hard pressed to keep back a smile of his own. Her head was resting on his shoulder, her eyes closed, breathing deep and even. He reached up with his free hand, tucking a strand of hair back behind her ear, tracing a finger along her cheek, only looking up when he heard a soft chuckle from across the room. Eyes that were the twin of his own glinted in amusement, and the only thing he could do was shrug with the shoulder that Sara wasn't leaning on.

"What're you smiling at?" he murmured, keeping his voice low lest he wake Sara.

Grams chuckled, following his lead, keeping her voice down too. "Oh I think you know, Warrick," she told him, one brow rising in a perfect arch. "She's a good girl. And she's good for you."

Warrick's fingers stroked Sara's hair absently but his eyes never left Grams's face. "I know," he said.

"Don't let her get away," came the advice, and he nodded slowly, accepting her words.

"Don't intend to," he replied, voice serious.

Grams's eyes widened briefly in surprise, then a wide smile spread across her face. "It's about time Warrick Brown," she murmured. "It's about time." Her gaze fell on Sara then, and she nodded her head towards her, Warrick following her gaze. "You told her that yet?"

Warrick drew in a deep breath, let it out in a sigh. "Soon, Grams," he promised quietly. "Soon." He stopped talking abruptly then, because their voices, low as they'd kept them, must have stirred something deep in Sara's subconscious, because she shifted against him slightly, eyelids flickering. Warrick's arm was still around her shoulders, had been since she'd sat down, still playing with her hair, and with his free hand he reached out and took one of her hands, fingers running gently over her skin. Her eyelids flickered a few more times before she inhaled deeply, then they opened slowly, blinking as they adjusted to the light in the room. "Hey there Sleepyhead," he murmured.

She groaned, burying her head in his shoulder, not before he saw her cheeks turning a brilliant shade of scarlet. "Sorry Grams," she mumbled when her head came back up, glancing over the older woman, who was doing nothing to hide her amusement.

"My grandson been keeping you awake has he?" she asked, and Sara closed her eyes, burying her head once more in Warrick's shoulder, while he considered the likelihood of the ground opening up and swallowing him.

"Grams…" was all he said though, his voice warning, and Grams held up her hands, the very picture of innocence.

Sara sat up properly then, rubbing her hands over his face, grinning sheepishly at him as his hand dropped from her shoulder to her back, making wide circles there. "I think I've slept more this week than I have in the last year," she complained, and he couldn't exactly say that he disagreed with her. He was used to waking up to an empty bed, invariably finding her curled up on the couch, reading or channel surfing. This week however, she'd been in bed every night when he'd left for work, and when he'd dragged himself home after the shift, that's where he'd found her again.

"You've been sick," he told her now. "It's allowed."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm sick of being sick." Her petulant tone had him laughing, which made her narrow her eyes and glare at him, the effect of which was lessened by the yawn that swallowed her face immediately thereafter.

Warrick knew better than to say anything to her, instead making a show of checking his watch, realising with surprise that it was later than he'd thought. "We should be getting you home," he observed, not knowing if he meant his place or hers; they'd work it out on the way. "I'll drive your car," he told her. "Mine's still at the rec centre; we'll have to collect it after work tomorrow," he added, thinking out loud.

Beside him, Sara raised a protest. "But you'll need your car for work later," she pointed out, because while their close friends and colleagues at CSI were privy to the details of their relationship, to the rest of the workforce, they were simply colleagues, and they tried not to draw attention to anything else. "I can drive," she continued, but her tone lacked conviction, and when he looked over at her, saw her face, still pale now that her blush had faded, and the dark circles under her eyes, he merely raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, picture that," was all he said, and she might have been about to give in when Grams spoke up.

"Why go all the way back home when there's a perfectly good bed here? Your old room's all made up. Stay here."

She said it as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and Warrick had to admit that he'd crashed here more than once, when he was too exhausted either mentally or physically to make his way back to his place. That had been different though; all those times he'd been here on his own. Ever since he'd been bringing Sara over here, they'd always made their excuses, gone back to one or other of their homes. Still though, he couldn't deny that the idea made sense tonight; it had been a long case, and he was tired, while Sara would no doubt be asleep in his passenger seat before he'd even backed out of the driveway.

Tilting his head at Sara, he gave her a look that clearly told her that it was her call, and recognising that, she shrugged. "I don't want you driving," he told her quietly, and she nodded.

Grams made a noise of disgust from across the room. "Any more than I want _you _driving Warrick Brown. You're done in, I can see it from here."

He opened his mouth to deny it, but Sara beat him to it, hand squeezing his shoulder. "She's right, Warrick."

Those three words may have silenced him, but not Grams. "Listen to the girl. You gonna argue with both of us?"

Warrick chuckled, shaking his head in defeat, knowing when he was beaten. "OK…you both win." Nodding his head to Grams, he said, "Thank you."

"Don't thank me," she said, rising from her chair and making little shooing motions with her hands. "Get to bed."

Feeling like he was ten years old again, not that he'd listened to her then, Warrick stood, helping Sara to her feet, and they both went over to Grams, Sara going first, hugging her and kissing her on the cheek. "Thanks, Grams," she said.

"Sleep well, baby," Grams said. "And if you need anything, you don't be shy, you hear?"

"Yes, Grams," Sara promised, shooting Warrick a quick grin as she stepped away from Grams, letting him hug her too.

"Thanks, Grams," he said, echoing Sara's words, and Grams hugged him tightly, keeping a grip on him for a second longer than she normally would.

She didn't say anything at first, then kissed his cheek, speaking quietly so that only he could hear, "You remember what I told you."

He smiled, kissing the top of her head. "I will." Stepping away then, he took Sara's hand and brought it to his lips. "Come on then, let's get you some sleep."

Side by side, hand in hand, they made their way up the stairs, him letting her step into the room first. He kept spare clothes in Grams's for occasions such as this, so the first thing he did was cross to the wardrobe, grabbing a T-shirt and tossing it to her. She caught it easily, but she still gave him a sassy smile, arching one eyebrow. "This is a first," she observed. "You getting me to cover up when we're in bed."

He shot her a look, suppressing a smile. "Strictly optional," he told her, only half joking, but she wrinkled her nose anyway, shaking her head.

"It's your grandmother's house, you know?" she asked, narrowing her eyes as if she realised how strange that sounded, because she'd never been shy with him before. "I know that sounds strange… I mean, it's us…" she continued. "But it's just…it's Grams." She rubbed a hand over her forehead, throwing the T-shirt on the bed, beginning to unbutton her shirt. "I'm not making much sense."

His shirt was already off, draped over the chair at the desk, his trousers now following suit, but he left his boxers on. "I know exactly what you mean," he said, getting into bed, holding out the covers for her. With a quick grin, she stripped down to her own underwear, slipping on the T-shirt before joining him, pressing herself against his side, nestled in the circle of his arms, one of hers going across his chest.

He expected her to fall asleep almost at once; what was a rare occurrence having occurred frequently since she'd been sick this week. So he was surprised when her voice split the darkness of the room. "Grams is pretty terrific you know," she told him. "You're lucky to have her."

His fingers found hers, laced them together. "Funny," he said, and he felt her frown, felt her head tilt up towards his face. "She thinks the same about you."

"That's nice." Despite the non-committal nature of the words, he could tell that she was smiling. It didn't mean he wasn't going to call her on it though.

"Just nice?" he teased, tickling her side, causing her to bite back a gasp and squirm against him, and he stopped quickly, remembering suddenly that doing that to someone who'd spent the last few days unable to keep food down probably wasn't the best idea he'd ever had.

She took a deep breath before she spoke. "It's just…I haven't felt like I was part of a family in a long time, and this…I'm still getting used to it. So…yeah…it's nice."

"You _are_ a part of this family," he corrected her with a frown. "You know that, right?"

"I know," she told him quickly. "It's just that it's different. To what I was used to at home. It's…I don't know. It's warmer. Easier." She paused, and when she spoke again, her voice was very quiet. "I could really get used to this."

His hand cupped her face, and he shifted, bringing his lips to hers briefly. "Me too," he whispered then, his face still mere inches from hers, close enough that he could feel her breath on his face. "Me too."

She smiled, turning her face so that she could place a kiss on the palm of his hand. "You trying to tell me something?"

She was teasing, but his answer was serious. "Not now," he told her. "Not tonight. But someday…someday, yeah."

He was worried she'd react badly to that, that it might alarm her, upset her. Instead though, she pressed herself closer to him, resting her head on his chest, right above his heart. "You promise?" She sounded very sleepy all of a sudden, or it could have been contentment, it was hard for him to tell.

"Yeah," he said, hand running through her hair. "I promise."

She mumbled something that sounded an awful lot like, "I like the sound of that," and he smiled to himself, knowing that it wouldn't be long before she was asleep. Sure enough, within seconds, her breathing was deep and even, her body limp in his arms, and he closed his own eyes, finally at peace for the first time since he and Grissom had walked into Matt's house.

"Yeah," he whispered, careful not to wake her, brushing his lips along her forehead. "I do too."


End file.
